True

by Fasnacht

Continuation of the Run Trilogy. Sam and Jake are staring the future in the face when their past collides with their present in ways they never expected. Their struggle to spread their wings and fly as they grapple with the meanings of their roots challenges not only their relationship, but their perspectives and dreams. Updated weekly. Warnings in header. Crossposted to ao3.

1. Chapter 1

This took me forever. I'm back and so thrilled to be here, to have this story at a point where I can share it. I promise updates at least weekly. I'm back and active in this fandom, and if you want to chat and catch up, do feel free to PM or comment. I appreciate all of your support over the years, and cherish all of your feedback. This story will and does become more Sake-centric.

Don't you think I know you've been down at Smoky Joe's

Spendin' all my workin' cash, a-drinkin' mash and talkin' trash

But you ain't foolin' me no more so don't come knockin' on my door.

So Don't Come Knocking, Dallas Frazier

The truck jolted over the range, bumping towards the dirt and gravel road. Sam nearly slid off the seat, but grabbed the door handle just as Quinn swung onto the gravel road, a splat of mud hitting the floor with each jolt.

"If you've ruined my interior..." Quinn threatened, hands spinning the wheel easily.

Sam cut him off as she felt a splat of mud settle onto the floorboard. "It's why you can scrub down mats, Quinn." Sam pushed back onto the seat, "Shut your face."

"I did shut my face." Quinn allowed, "I did, and it ended with you sitting yourself down in the mud because apparently I don't—" Quinn grinned, "What was it you said?"

"You don't know jack about stock tanks." Sam reminded him primly, not that he needed to hear it. Quinn had a memory like a steel trap. He was teasingly mocking her, and she was happy to play along.

"I-" Quinn poked himself in the chest as he drove the truck one handedly down the dirt lane that would take them to their yard, "Know plenty, thank you. I know things about stock tanks of which your brain has yet to even consider."

Sam snorted, "If you knew anything I didn't know, you'd be running your mouth."

"Why would I?" Quinn asked, "And anyway, you told me to shut my trap, so it's your loss."

"I said mouth this time, do keep up." Sam retorted, feeling her stomach twist. When would she ever learn to eat with her NSAIDs? When would she ever remember that eating prevented this pain and nausea, mild and short-lived though it was? She'd feel better once she vomited, though there was no telling when that might happen.

"Mouth, trap, pie hole..." Quinn reeled off, "—chops, gob, kisser, yap, hatch..."

Sam tuned him out, and looked out at the spring abundance that was coming to fruition across the yard. There was clean wash on the line, and daffodils danced near the porch, while rose bushes were yet not in full bloom. The dog was loping around, herding a duckling that had escaped its mama's watchful eye. Mama duck was making noise at her errant duckling, bustling its way towards her baby on webbed feet.

Sam scanned the yard, spending a long second glancing at the horses, even as Quinn kept speaking. Her gaze rotated towards the house, and Sam startled in a hard flinch. Sam felt a cold chill in her blood as she saw a shining rental truck in Quinn's spot, with a bunch of luggage in the bed, and a saddle thrown over the railing of the stairs nearby.

Sam slowly raised her hand to point.

Quinn fell silent, and Sam felt his gaze tracking her finger's line.

Quinn spoke for them both, "Shit."

That single word hardly began to express the total gravity of the situation. Roughly, Quinn jerked the truck into park as Sam fumbled with her belt. He seemed lost for words. Luckily, Sam found some, her mouth loose with something akin to panic and dread all mingled together, "What are we going to do?"

"I'll tell you what we are not going to do." Quinn opened the door, and hopped down, but turned around and faced Sam as he continued, "We are not going to call Jake, do you hear me?"

Sam nodded mutely, slowly coming to agree with Quinn. "Not today, of all days." There was no possible way that she could tell Jake. Today, he was out on calls with Dr. Haskins. He likely did not have reception.

Even so, that was not the main reason Sam hated this, had this feeling of dread in her stomach that stemmed from both nausea and worry. Every day, they waited for decisions from various medical schools and colleges. No one needed the added stress right now.

Sam hopped down from the truck, slip sliding onto her feet. All teasing about dirt and mud was utterly forgotten. Sam shut the truck door, wanting more than anything to not walk into that house.

Quinn fell into step beside her as the moved around the truck and towards the house. He was beyond joking, though Sam knew he was searching for something to say. Air left his lungs in a hurried woosh. "Why do you think he's here?"

Sam had no idea. "From the looks of his luggage..." Sam took in the three bags, which was far more than anyone would bring for a short visit, "And the saddle, I think we're looking at at least a month."

Quinn's hand clasped her elbow as they went up the stairs. In doing so, he was able to say in an undertone, "I hope you're wrong."

She hoped she was very wrong, too.

With that shared hope between them, they walked into the house. Quinn took the lead, calling out, "Mom, it's Sam and me!"

"Oh, Quinn!" Max called from deep within the kitchen, "Kit's home! Isn't it wonderful?"

Quinn blanched, so Sam forced up her 'I tolerate my father's girlfriend' smile, and called out in return, "That's just great!"

Quinn choked on his spit, coughing as Sam hauled herself up the steps, only fumbling twice.

Sam changed quickly, throwing on worn jeans, and a clean sweater, her mind whirling. It was clear that Cricket was not here with her husband. Hopefully, then, Kit was only stopping off during a work trip to the mainland, not that he ever had done so in previous trips. Sam had seen Max cope with the pain his lack of visits had caused, and Sam wondered what was different about this trip.

She would not stand to see Max hurt yet more though action, as she had been so bruised by Kit's intentional inaction. The years since Kit had been a child and young man in their midst had long passed, and in those years, hurt and pain had festered. Every ignored letter and phone call, every visit they'd tried to plan that had fallen through, every time he'd not stopped home had added up to a rift and a distance.

She bundled her dirty clothes together, and headed down the stairs, straining her ears to overhear conversation so that she did not walk into this minefield blind. "...more chili? We'll have dinner soon, but you must be hungry. I think Sam made some brownies."

"I ate those." Quinn replied. Sam gripped the bannister and let her foot drop off of the stair. Haphazardly, her left foot followed suit. She maintained her grip on her dirty clothes, and headed towards the kitchen.

By the time she got to the door, Max had already begun speaking in response, "Oh, well. I'm sorry, Kit. I would have made something special had I known you were coming. We're just so glad you're here." She did not stop speaking when she spotted Sam in the doorway, "It's just wonderful. Sam, you go on and call Grace and tell her to come for dinner. We'll have pasta."

Sam shared a glance with Quinn, utterly ignoring the man with the bowl of chili balanced in his hands, sitting backwards on a chair. If anyone else had ever sat like that on those chairs, they'd be grounded, no matter that they were all nearly legal adults.

After a second of commiseration with Quinn, she spoke, "Hey, Kit."

Kit leaned forward on the chair, unbalancing it, "Hey." He summarily ignored her as he had always done, "Mom, there's no need for fuss."

"Nonsense." Max pulled down a large pot from the cupboard above her head, and peered into it critically.

Quinn pushed to his feet, "You and Sam were going to the Cattlewoman's meeting, I thought."

"We don't mind missing." Max asserted, not even asking Sam. Sam intended fully to go, even if she had to bum a ride from Trudy. She still wasn't driving. She was slowly coming to see that no matter what Dr. Francis said, she might never drive again.

Max looked up at Sam, still hanging onto her wash and standing there, "Sam, while you're at it, call your grandfather."

Before Sam could move, Kit looked over at her, a toothy smile covering his face. "Sam, grab me some crackers for my chili."

Oh, he remembered her name when it was time to ask for things. How typical of their childhoods, or at least those later years. Sam pointed towards the basket in the middle of the table with her chin. "There you go."

Before he could ask her to actually pass them, Sam strode from the room, and threw her wash in the laundry pile. She wanted crackers, too, but they would likely make her more nauseated. She wasn't his assistant, wasn't some little eleven year old who could be made to do someone's bidding.

She had absolutely zero intention of calling anyone, so it was a relief when Max called her name again as she plopped her less soiled garments in the basket and put the jeans in the sink to rinse, "Sam! Never mind, I'll call myself!" Max called, too excited to let anyone have a role in spreading the word, evidently, "Would you mind starting on some noodles, please? The dough will need to chill."

Sam replied in the affirmative, and tried to pull herself together. This visit was a good thing, even if it filled her with a sense of foreboding that had nothing to do with the nausea rolling in her blood. She knew that there was a lot of tension between the boys, but Max and Luke deserved their joy, deserved to have their whole family together.

She was glad that she could avoid the main kitchen for the summer kitchen, and hide out there, dumping flour, egg, and water, onto the board without having to see another living soul.

She needed to think. Her stomach was tight, upset, and she did not want to vomit in front of anybody. She was never going to remember to eat with her NSAIDs. She needed them so rarely.

After her wash was getting into the wash cycle, she set about her task. Once she grabbed a scraper and some other tools, Sam reached for the flour canister, and scooped it out in a well practiced way onto the smooth wooden countertop across the room from the swooshing washing machine.

Thankfully, she had classwork to do herself and wasn't going to be expected to be a huge part of Kit's visit, or so she hoped. She had finished high school early, doing what she had to do to get done and out of the way once she began working with the Extension program and Mrs. Church. It hadn't made any sense to pace herself, just to hang around for graduation or prom. None of those things mattered. Still, work, especially math, had not been easy.

Sam had been relieved when Mrs. Church had suggested online college classes as she'd been wrapping up her modules, unsure with what to do with herself and with her time. Online courses for college credit had filled out her schedule, and put her ahead of the game. She knew that leaving for school was going to be a challenge, so she was glad to have a great many of her credits out of the way. Her first semester at school was going to be rather light in terms of face to face classes.

Also, the school district had paid for most of the classes, so it was almost free for her to gain credits. Knowing that every class had saved her money, Sam had worked like a fiend to take four classes each eight week module. They were classes she would not have to put out any money to take, even for books. That meant she was pulling in an average of 24 credits a semester, the absolute limit for which the school district would pay. Sam had taken advantage of every free class, knowing that any money she could save was best for the ranch.

Sam hoped that she would have the option of finishing her degree in two semesters, once she was on a campus. Though it had been an adjustment, college courses were easier for her. They pushed her, but not in a way that in ways that were painful or impossible. They pushed her to grow the good parts of her intellect.

Now, it wasn't so much about what she could memorize. Sam couldn't memorize a simple list of items, most days. It was now about what she could do with information, what conclusions she was able to draw with the information in front of expected the books to be closed, and a timer to be pulled out. She had fewer assignments, now, but they counted for more per class. It worked well for her, far better than those last months of high school ever had, in truth.

She had cried with relief the day she'd finished that math class from hell, and had promised herself that she would she was going to leave math in the dust. Never again would she take a math course. Just the thought of it made her heart race as she formed a dough on the board.

The eggs were gooey and slick as they mixed with flour. Sam's stomach clenched, and she sucked in a breath. Sam heard Max going on and on through the telephone, and Sam rolled her eyes. Of course there would be a dinner for Kit.

Sam wondered if they were going to be expected to kill a fatted calf. This sucked.

What was he doing here? Why was he here? Where was his wife? Why had Cricket not come along? Every time Kit called, he made her sure to mention how happy they were together in paradise. It didn't stand to reason then that he would leave for any amount of time without explaining where she might not be with him.

The door to the back kitchen opened, slowly so as to avoid the squeak of the wooden frame on weather worn hinges. Sam glanced up to see Quinn shut the door behind him. His face spoke a thousand words, and it was evident that he too was nauseated and baffled.

Sam worked on her dough, glad it was almost done. Quinn rifled on one of the shelves until he found what he was looking for, and stuffed an entire cookie in his mouth.

He chewed it half up, and then spoke, "I'm stress eating."

"I'm going to throw up." Sam admitted, knowing that the action was nearly imminent. "I didn't eat with my pain meds earlier, so I win."

"You do not win." Quinn disagreed, putting away the cookies, and hiding them behind a pile of dishcloths that was in a lined straw basket on the shelf. "You made a choice to eviscerate your stomach lining again. I'm reacting out of trauma."

Sam considered her words. Her stomach flipped, and she did not know if it was because of her medication or because she knew Quinn was correct. A cold sweat broke out across her brow.

Kit was back. The truth of the matter was, while they loved him, nobody much liked him. There had been a lot of hurt feelings over the years, with the callous way he had simply walked away, and then acted as though they were somehow inferior. He was clearly Max's favorite, and he lorded the special treatment he garnered over the rest of them, even as he did things to Max and Luke that anyone else would never dream of dishing out.

The dough finally came together as Quinn stood there, eating cookies he'd taken out of the tin. Personally, Sam thought Kit was a little lazy, a little pathetic. She never voiced those thoughts aloud. It went without saying, and she wasn't the sort to be unkind. She thought he embodied some of the worst traits of the family. There was no hard work to balance his humor, no honor to balance his black and white view of the world.

Sam considered her words as she finished mixing the dough. It had come together in an expertly mixed disk, and would soon be ready to make into noodles. Her stomach was in knots. Finally, her face gray, she looked over at Quinn, and declared, "I'm going to throw up."

Backing away from the food, Sam turned around and found purchase at the wide industrial sink Luke had gotten for a song at an estate sale. Flour puffed up in her face as she pressed her stomach to the counter. Her stomach tightened as she heaved, expelling digested food and bile.

Quinn turned on the water, to wash down the offending liquids. Sam heaved again. After a moment and another few twists of her stomach, her stomach declared itself empty. Quinn passed her a cup with water in it, and Sam washed out her mouth. After spitting the final time, she shut off the slow trickle of water, and said, "Thanks."

Things were fine. She felt almost entirely better now that there was nothing in her stomach. Nausea came, and nausea went, but it didn't rule her life. It passed, and even the twinges of her stomach told her now that she had broken through the worst of it.

Quinn asked, "Do you want some soda or something?" He was serious, "I'll go deal with Kit if you want some ondansetron."

Sam shook her head, but stopped when it made her a bit dizzy. "I can't take stuff every time I vomit. It's my fault. I messed up my meds."

"Doesn't mean you ought to suffer for a mistake." Quinn pressed, knowing that the conversation was over.

Sam blew out a breath. Thank God the dough was done, so she could leave it alone for a while. She pressed her head down on the counter. She was so sick of having to cope with this stuff. It had been years. She was going to be 18 in mere weeks, and it didn't look any of her issues were going to magically disappear. Being an adult didn't make medical issues go away, it just meant changes to some of her doctors.

"Sam?" Quinn pressed, though she heard him pressing cling wrap over the dough.

"I'm awake." Sam muttered. She didn't want to be, not with the way her head was spinning and her stomach was summersaulting, but she was fully alert. She was settling, and felt better than she had five minutes ago, "Don't be a fink, Quinn, I'm fine."

Quinn was over by the mixing bench, eating yet another cookie. "The pasta's mixed." He pressed a hand onto her shoulder. "You haven't been taking care of yourself."

"I'm functional." Sam glared. She felt so much better after having cleared out her innards. She scrubbed her hands down with hot water and a copious amount of soap, and sipped more cold water.

Quinn made a sound of disbelief. "Sammy."

"This isn't going to be good." Sam spoke her truth aloud, even as she hated herself for the dark tint of reality.

"Don't bother trouble. What do we know, really?" Quinn tried to be optimistic, but even he failed. To Sam, that spoke volumes.

If I do get a mean and stony stare

If I'm not successful, it won't be distressful

Cause I don't care

A girl should know her etiquette

Alas, alack

Propriety demands we walk a narrow track

When fellas used to blink at me, I'd freeze 'em and they'd shrink at me

But now when fellas wink at me, I wink at them right back!

I Don't Care, Judy Garland

Dinner was agonizing, and it wasn't because the food was heavy in her stomach. Grandpa had come over in due course, and so at least Sam didn't have to worry about the table being unruly or rude. He set a high bar of civility and his expectations thereof, and everyone minded Grandpa. She'd set aside a large portion for Jake, and fiddled with her own food. She wished she had stayed in her room, where she had hidden after doing her part to make dinner. She had been summoned, though, and there had been no way to look into Max's bright eyes and declare herself more tired than hungry, though she had been up earlier than usual to do her schoolwork and active on the ranches.

Quinn nudged her foot under the table. Sam picked up her water glass. Quinn obviously wanted her to pay attention to Kit's command of the dining table. "...So, there we were, absolutely covered in sand..."

And that was enough for her to know that he had nudged her out of frustration and not interest. Sam couldn't take the charming smile, the way Kit was weaving a spell. Sam put down her glass, and heard Max interjecting happily, "And how did Cricket react?"

"She was fine." Kit said, mentioning his wife for the first time in Sam's hearing. He then set his sights on Sam, cutting his own story short, "So Mom said you were applying to colleges?"

Sam was startled but not entirely surprised by this shift in conversation.

Sam nodded, setting her fork down on the edge of her laden plate. "I'm waiting to hear back on transfer placements."

Gram added, "Of course we're very proud of Sam. Did you know she's almost finished with her degree? She's worked very hard."

"I like my classes, is all." Sam asserted, shooting Gram a look she hoped would be interpreted as modesty. Really, she was annoyed. Kit did not need to be told that River Bend needed every penny it could save, that she did not want to add debt to their life, not when she knew they'd be swimming in it once Jake began school in the fall.

Sam knew people were staring, wanting her to add more, so she said, "I'm majoring in Women's Studies and Fine Arts."

"Didn't you decide on a journalism minor?" Luke asked, knowing full well that she had done so, not too long ago. She had taken most of the courses in the last module. She had a paper in her current classes due tonight.

"Women's Studies?" Kit's eyebrows rose, "What's that? Home Economics? I mean, I know everybody says you need help with that but..."

"Women Studies isn't Family and Consumer Sciences..." Sam felt her muscles clenching as her teeth clattered together. There was so much condescension in his tone, in the inflection of his voice. Of course, he would still treat her as though she was five, and blowing up Easy Bake ovens for fun. She did not let herself consider his actual opinion of the work of feminist scholars and her identity as a intersectional feminist scholar herself. "It's actually a transdisciplinary field that seeks to understand facets of diversity and structures of inequality. I tend to focus on the experiences of women in the progressive era in the West, though not all women's studies scholars focus on people who identify as female, or on a narrowly defined topic."

Grandpa added, "I read a new book on Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

"That's some old dead lady, right?" Kit asked, waving his fork. A bit of sausage fell off of the tines as he did so, landing on his sauce covered plate with a glop.

Sam couldn't believe that Max was looking at Kit as though he had hung the moon. She would normally lecture someone within an inch of their lives if they knocked some historical figure like Kit had just done.

"Yes." Sam's teeth snapped together, her mouth having fallen open. "My focus is progressive era reform. Her writings and experience surrounding motherhood are fascinating."

"So, what are you going to do with that sort of a degree?" Kit asked, shifting on his seat, "It seems a bit fluffy and useless to me. You always said you wanted to be an ag teacher. I guess you could still do that now, if you found some sense and took some classes at the community college."

"I could." Sam allowed, knowing that the idea of being a high school classroom teacher was very far from her realm of interest, largely because she had not set foot in a high school classroom in years and did not think it was the best space for her, "But I want to go to grad school, and write, and then I want to come home and work the ranch."

"That's a lot of work." Kit paused, but only for a nanosecond, as he spooned yet more food onto his plate. He was always moving. It made Sam almost dizzy. She had this inkling that something about his demeanor wasn't right, but she couldn't quite place it.

Quinn interjected, "Tell us something we don't know." Everybody chuckled, though Quinn was completely stating the obvious as he buttered another roll. He smiled, his most fake charming smile, "So you were saying, Kit..."

Kit went back to some story. Sam noticed that he completely skipped over any mention of his beloved. He talked more about his friends and his work on the ranch. Sam picked her way through a salad, eating more than she actually had room for in her tight stomach. Setting down her fork, Sam sat back and observed.

Kit was jovial. Too jovial. Something was utterly off about him, though Sam couldn't pinpoint what exactly what it happened to be. His hands were shaking, slightly, and he threw himself totally into the conversation, eating with gusto and abandon, as though he would fall apart if he were still for a single second.

Sam couldn't make sense of it, yet. She needed data. With that in mind, she dove into the conversation. "So, Kit. How long were you planning on being here?" Sam realized that her undertone was plain. To soften presentation, she asked, "Because if you're going to be here for the drive..."

"I'm not sure yet." Kit gave her that winning smile sure to make the girls swoon, "Mom might get sick of me."

And oh, the laugh that came from Max down at the end of the table twisted Sam's stomach. None of the others got this treatment. It rankled, because it was confusing. Sam did not like confusing things. Well, that wasn't true. She liked them, but only so much as she enjoyed figuring them out. She wasn't going to give into Kit's deflections quite yet.

"Well." Sam ventured, "I'm only asking because Jake and I are going to San Fransisco soon."

Max looked eagerly down the table towards Sam, "Sam, couldn't you postpone your trip now that Kit's here?"

"Max, I..." Sam tried not to rage. She was not going to set aside her life and her goals to make nice. They were very seriously considering SFMC and Orange Grove, and these visits were absolutely key, not to mention that Jake had meetings. He'd been offered admission there, but he hadn't yet heard back from everywhere he wanted to go, so he hadn't yet fully made up his mind.

Sam forced air out of her lungs. She just had to be polite. She just had to paste a smile on. What did it matter, anymore, what Kit thought of any of them? He wasn't someone who mattered in their lives, not really, because he had made the choices to walk away.

Before she could finish, Luke patted Max's hand, and put an end to this line of conversation. "There's plenty of time to talk things over, and lots of time to visit."

Sam sent him a grateful look that he did not miss. It seemed that even he was completely over Max's fawning of their son. This visit was never going to end, and it had just started.

Hit the road Jack and don't cha come back

No more no more no more no more

Hit the road Jack and don't cha come back

No more

Hit the Road Jack, Ray Charles

Jake turned back to the sink to hide his expression. No matter how schooled he was, he could not hide the disgust in his eyes. No one was really paying attention to him anyway, because they were all back to talking, laughing as Kit held them captive with some stupid rodeo story.

Jake picked up his watch, and slung it back over his wrist. It was metal, secondhand, Soviet, and had a second hand. Jake had gotten it as a gift from his parents for graduating from college with a 4.00. Dad said it would do him just fine in medical school.

The cowboy leaning back in the kitchen chair took a swig from his mug, "...and then, Slim, well, he just thought that it was the funniest thing. So, naturally, we had to send the kid snipe hunting. He went out, stayed out for a good four hours..."

Jake's blood boiled, and he tuned his brother out once more before he said something terrible and true. There was a point to jokes and a pecking order on a ranch. Jake had walked in to the kitchen in the middle of this rendition of the story, but what had gone down was as plain as day. They'd shipped some green kid off into the tropical landscape, filled with snakes and spiders and God knew what else he likely had never seen. They'd put him on some wild goose chase and made him prove himself with an impossible task. It put Jake in mind of all those tricks and pranks that had defined his growing up years. Kit and his buddies had gotten away with teasing and tormenting the younger ones, with a fake smile and platitudes to Mom. Behind her back, he had gotten revenge if any punishment had been handed down. Jake had learned to stay out of his way, even after the rose colored glasses had fallen away from his eyes.

Kit was still talking about this kid, who had cried. Kit laughed about making a 18 year old boy who was two thousand miles from home cry, as though being in power over him had been nothing but amusing. "...never did live it down. Turned out to be a decent kid, all told."

Neither Dad nor Wyatt had ever, ever allowed pranks and jokes to go that far. There had been limits, limits based on common decency and respect. Jake figured that any outfit in which Kit played a principal role would not be guided by those same values.

"Where's Sam?" Jake privately hoped that she had gone back to River Bend. They usually were here on Wednesdays, because he had a late night and Sam had her Cattlewoman's meeting with Mom. Clearly, they had not gone.

"She went outside, Jake, after Trudy called to say she couldn't go." Mom said, not even so much as looking at him, "I'm not quite sure when she left, so I couldn't tell you where she might be."

Jake nodded, and left the room as Kit continued as though he had not be interrupted. Kit hadn't made an effort to speak to him, not that Jake cared. It wasn't like he wanted to talk to the guy.

They did not need Mr. Do No Wrong around here right now. Jake felt like he was walking a wire, waiting daily for admissions decisions to roll in, and the added pressure of having Kit in the house was one he could hardly stand. Kit was the worst of the lot, and he himself was no saint. Kit, even on his best day, was rude, and haughty, and treated Mom like garbage. He asked for money from Dad, and never paid a cent of it back, all the while putting on this front that he was this freewheeling cowboy with a happy home life.

Jake headed to the pasture. He figured if Sam was around, she would be there. If she wasn't there, then likely she was at River Bend. Clearly, Mom had elected to skip the meeting tonight. He hadn't expected to find them at home.

Jake didn't really know what to make of Kit coming home, like the prodigal son. It seemed highly fishy to him.

Sam had texted him. Exactly when he did not know because the second he'd gotten reception, her text had popped up. She'd wanted him to be prepared. For the first time, Jake was just glad they were getting out of here to go to the city. He was thinking on seeing if Sam wanted to extend the trip.

Jake let out a shrill whistle, a blast of noise that was soon answered by the thud of hoofbeats. Witch saddled up to him, slowing to a stop with her usual grace. She dropped her head, You rang.

Jake patted her neck, "You're smart, getting out as far as you can with that guy in the house." He didn't mind being petty to his horse. She understood.

Witch shifted, as if to say, If he tries to ride me, I'll buck him. She nuzzled against his body, and Jake knew exactly what she was asking for with her pushy movements and doleful eyes.

"Spoiled." He gave her the peppermint anyway. "I'm going to go get your tack."

Jake was walking out of the barn saddle against his hip, when a voice called out, "If you're planning on heading for the hills, you had better not be leaving without me."

Sam caught up easily as they moved toward the pasture, her own blanket and bridle in her arms. "I was trying to catch up with you."

"I waited for you." Sam admitted as they crossed into the pasture, "You missed quite the circus at dinner."

Jake felt the hair on his arms rise. "What did he say to you?"

"Jake..." Sam patted Ace's side, as she slipped the bridle over his head.

That wasn't a no, then. Jake decided that as much as he wanted to know, wanted to handle it, that it was Sam's business if she told him. He didn't like it, exactly, but he knew being hot-headed about slights their way wasn't the way to start this off. She was better at handling Kit anyway.

Jake huffed as Sam led Ace over the mounting block. He made sure the saddle was tight, because lately Ace had been sucking in a lung full of air to throw the cinch off, and Sam had nearly slid from the saddle twice in the last week. He didn't think it was funny, but at least she had the sense to keep wearing a helmet.

At his nod, she hauled herself into the saddle. At this point, she didn't need him to help her. She'd made any adaptations she'd needed over time, and now the changes were so seamless that he hardly even remembered what they were, exactly.

Jake mounted, and they headed West by mutual agreement, towards the sunset that was fading from the sky. After a little while, with nothing but hoofbeats between them, Jake found himself speaking, "Rosalie Blanco had her baby last week. I got to hold her while Haskins checked her out."

Rosalie had two kids under five. She'd come home to Nevada shortly before the birth. He husband was in the Navy, and she hadn't wanted to stay on base with a new baby. Her husband, Eric, was away enough that he understood her desire to go back home to settle in with the baby and their toddler.

Jake had stood in her living room, the baby's mohawk of blonde hair amusing him as he'd held her tiny little body against his chest. It had been nice, something a bit strange. He'd been terrified he was going to drop the baby. He hadn't though, and hearing her breath sounds had been nothing short of amazing.

Sam's smile was soft, "You're broody."

"I didn't want to keep her." Jake countered, knowing that there was a very big difference between liking somebody else's baby and wanting one for keeps.

"The gentleman doth protest too much." Sam teased.

They were silent again, until Sam brought up the elephant in the wilderness. "I bet you he's just here for money."

Jake considered her assertion.

Kit always wanted money. Mom and Dad handed it over, hand over fist, never mind that Seth was struggling through starting his law career, or Adam had gotten a second job just to pay his bills when things hit a low at the shop. He'd had medical bills out his ears after breaking his collarbone on a whitewater rafting trip, but did he ask for money? No.

Kit had, for rodeoing, for his trips, for his job, for bills, for expenses Jake didn't think he should have kept up. It annoyed Jake to no end that Kit had just shown up, so sure of his welcome. The rest of them put a day's work in to earn a place to sleep here, but not Kit. "Maybe."

"Just..." Sam began, "I just want you to know that we don't know why he's here. It could be anything."

Jake was privately worried that it was either nothing at all that brought him here, or something big. He wasn't sure which she thought might be worse, or more worrisome.

Well raise another round, boys, and have another glass

Be thankful for today knowing it will never last

Still lets leave the world laughing when our eulogies are read

May we all get to heaven 'fore the devil knows we're dead

May we all get to heaven 'fore the devil knows we're dead

Before the Devil Knows We're Dead, The Turnpike Troubadors

Sam was exhausted. Today had shoved her through the wringer, button side out. She was so glad to be done with chores. The chickens were shut up, and now she and Jake were sitting in the tack room. She was making up a shopping list for River Bend based on the CAL Ranch flyer. Mainly, she was just avoiding going inside. Brynna was over at home, visiting for dinner, and Sam figured avoiding Kit was easier than avoiding Brynna, who was determined to be her friend. At least Kit was honest about his apathy.

Sam pushed to her feet, and returned the flyer to the basket by the door. Sam was just about to ask Jake what he was doing, and if he wanted to go inside and go to bed, when she heard something she wasn't supposed to hear.

"What?" Boots were moving towards the tack room door, but the attached voice carried farther towards her ears, "...no, I haven't told them. How am I going to tell them? My perfect parents, with nearly 35 years of marriage don't understand things like this."

Sam froze. Jake inched towards her. They were clearly evesdropping, standing as close to the door as possible. Jake's hand gripped her elbow.

Kit spoke again after a moment, "Jesus! It isn't like that! They're not going to kick me out. You know what?" Kit's voice was filled with a resigned vitriol, "It is what it fucking is, thirty-three years old, my wife left me. I quit my job, couldn't even show my face to pick up my last check. I've got nothing for me on the Islands. I'm not sure what I'm doing, man, but I'm too old to hit the fucking circuit, again. Shit, some of those boys could be my get."

Sam couldn't haul a breath into her lungs. This was huge news. This explained everything, and opened a Pandora's box in Sam's mind.

Sam felt Jake's heart rabbiting in his ribcage from where he stood behind her. Sam heard Kit's hand moving toward the doorknob, and knew that if they were caught, things would be bad. She knew Jake's fuse was short with Kit, and she wanted to avoid a confrontation when emotions were running high. She also wanted to avoid raising Kit's suspicions. They needed a cover story so that they could process this bombshell.

What could she do? What could she do? Jake was no help. He was just standing there, imposing and looking confident even when their world had just...

Oh. Sam's knees went weak with want at the worst possible second.

With time running out, Sam pushed Jake back far enough to position herself, a look of interest on his face, and press her body against his. His stance shifted minutely, giving her room to place her feet around his. Sam's quick view of their boots shifting together set something quavering in her stomach.

Luckily, Kit ended the conversation and that beep refocused Sam. Now not the time to lose her train of thought. She had no other choice. This was conceivably the only thing that would ever distract her enough to ignore a conversation like she had just overheard, and anyone who knew her, transparent as she was about her feelings for Jake, would know that for fact.

Jake froze, "Wh-?"

Sam pushed up on her toes as she undid the clip in her hair, dropped it on the floor, and yanked at two of the buttons on her sweater. She breathed against his mouth, quickly, devoid of anything but desperation, "Open your mouth. We've got to look like we've been distracted."

Jake did so, most likely to respond as realization dawned in his eyes and a spark of mischievousness lit up the brown tones in his irises, his arms around her before she even finished speaking. Sam very calculatingly pushed her chest against him, and stopped just short of shoving her tongue in his mouth.

She did have a plan, after all. This wasn't a free show. This was a get out of jail card. She wasn't going to violate Jake just to get through this sticky moment. She knew she'd have enough to apologize for later, at least to keep their lines of communication open. Nothing about this was funny.

The door swung open just as Jake bit gently on her bottom lip, and breathed hotly against her mouth. He was annoyed that they weren't kissing for real, and that Kit was going to bust it up, Sam supposed.

Sam had to hold back a very real reaction, and she promised herself that they'd be finishing this later. Now was not the time to be thinking about anything other than a plausible cover.

Jake's wide palm was sliding down her back. It was calculated. That hand had a destination, or a supposed one. From behind, it would look as though Kit had walked into something very heated. Sam knew that, with Jake's one action, she had melted bonelessly against him.

Intensely aware of Kit standing in the doorway, Sam forced out a breathless huff.

Jake spoke before she got to it, and his own voice was tight. Sam thought it passed muster enough in this situation to ring true. He was, after all, frustrated on some level. "Can't you knock?"

She turned around, even as Jake tried to prevent the movement with his arms around tightly her. "Oh, Kit! I'd forgotten you were even home." She kicked the clip she'd purposefully dropped, in some kind of fumble she hoped came across as blustered and annoyed.

Kit picked it up. He extended the clip, open side up. A few stands of her hair were clinging to the clasp, like it had truly been fumbled from her locks in the heat of a moment. "You two better go inside."

His expression was stern. There was no secondhand embarrassment there, no hint of apology. He simply looked annoyed and angry.

Sam was certain they'd just been busted listening to him on the phone. She looked back at Jake, forcing a calmness she did not feel on into her smile. Sam's hand fell to her buttons, glad that she had only undone the one and the top and the one at the bottom. Nothing was showing, thank God. "Right. Well."

Sam took the clip.

Jake put his hand on her back. Without another word, he propelled them from the room.

When he strode up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door, Sam applauded him mentally. It suited their cover story just fine.

Well she packed my bags and opened up the door.

And I got a feeling she didn't want me 'round no more.

She caught me in a lie when I was messin' around,

And that woman that I had wrapped around my finger

Just come unwound.

Unwound, George Strait

Jake was fuming. When Sam slipped into the bedroom the hallway, he couldn't figure out what he most wanted to say to her. Jake sank to the bed. "What was that?"

Sam's color rose, "Look, I know I didn't ask, but I didn't know what else to do."

"That." Jake bit out, "Is not what I'm talking about, here." Jake didn't particularly appreciate her throwing herself at him as some kind of a joke, some kind of diversion, like their relationship was for anyone else's consumption or eyes. He was particularly annoyed that she had pulled her hair loose and mussed her sweater, only to throw Kit off their trail. What was that? She couldn't think of anything else?

"My mind just went blank, and I just looked at yo—…" Sam's blush turned her face into a reflection of a brush fire. She cleared her throat, "Anyway..."

Jake tried not to smirk. Well, that explained it better than some conversation ever might. He loved her so much, even with her propensity to get them into snags like this. In truth, though, he loved her because of her recklessness and her willingness to throw herself into the fray. And anyway, what they'd overhead had nothing to do with them.

"Don't laugh!" Sam scolded, "We have a huge problem."

Jake sobered. They knew now that Kit wasn't going home to Hawaii. They knew Cricket had left him. They knew he had quit his job, and that he wasn't going back on the rodeo circuit.

Sam continued, "I thought he was joking when he said he'd be here as long as Max could stand him."

"Guess not." Jake allowed, thinking over what he'd seen. "He's still wearing his wedding ring. They might reconcile in a day or two."

Sam gave him an arch look. He did too understand women. He resisted the urge to glare at her. "What?" Her expression asserted that he was missing something obvious, something big.

"Jake." Sam's sigh was resigned, "Would you want a man like that? Wouldn't you get sick of him when he never did grow up? I bet Cricket's done all she can do, and this was the only recourse."

Jake got it, to a point. There was something he knew he didn't quite understand but now was not the time to fuss over details. He asked, "We have information. What do we do with it?"

Sam faltered, uncertainty clear on her pale face.

Jake knew that his parents needed to know. They wouldn't judge Kit, but they would want to help him. Jake knew that the second his parents knew, things around here would change to allow Kit a leadership role here. Jake knew he didn't want that for himself, but his parents needed to know. "We've got to tell them, somehow."

Sam chewed her lip, "Is it our place, Jake? Maybe he just needs time."

Something in her expression struck fear and worry into Jake's heart. Terror bloomed hotly in his blood, "I don't need you taking his side."

"There are no sides." Sam asserted, "This might not even be an issue. Next week, he could be halfway to Del Rio. He's got a saddle."

"I can't take a week of this shit." Jake blurted, knowing full well that Kit meant he would never go back after hanging up his spurs. He wasn't at the top of his game, anymore, and God forbid Kit Ely not be the best at anything he did. Jake knew who they were dealing with, understood his motivations, better than Sam.

She wanted the bright side, and he had to be the one to shatter her hope with facts. "Don't you see? He's back." Jake declared his truth, knowing that what would come to pass was probably going to gut him and eviscerate Quinn, "He's back for good because he wants his birthright. The eldest Ely son, come to take up the helm of the ranch."

He knew now why Grandpa and Grandma had only had the one child, the one son. He hated the patriarchy. He hated tradition. He wanted what was best for the ranch. Even though he hated Kit for his cowardice, he could confidently and objectively state that his vision of the future was not the best one for Three Ponies or Deer Path.

Sam tried to soothe him. Jake saw something soft move in her bearing. Her voice dropped. He could almost see her fighting with herself, not to cross the room and press her hand to his arm. "You're jumping the gun by a good ten miles, I think."

"It only came down to us, Sam, because no one else wants it." Jake reminded her, wheels turning frantically in his mind, "Had anybody but Quinn and me stepped forward, you and I would have never been asked to stay involved so much."

"He does not want the ranch." Sam enunciated, as though she knew it as truth and had a notarized document saying as much.

"What else has he got?" Jake fought the urge to pace as puzzle pieces locked together in his mind. This was the start of his goodbye to any right he had to the future he had banked upon. "He didn't go to college, didn't go to trade school. He spent his whole life playing big shot rodeo star until that dried up. He got that job at that ranch, but he won't get another now that he left without giving notice. Three Ponies is all he's got in his back pocket."

Jake's whole world was something his brother considered a fall back plan. His whole universe, a place for which he lived, and would have gladly sacrificed all he had, was Kit's fallback. That rankled Jake. Generations of his family had put the ranch first, and Kit only strolled home to take up the helm that Quinn and he had spent years preparing to take up when Kit decided he had nothing better or more worthwhile to do.

"Jake." Sam's voice was sharp as she called his name. Grabbing his attention, she demanded, "Listen to me."

"There's nothing to say." Jake gruffly admonished her, "He's got his plans."

Kit had his plans. And once again, Jake was powerless to stop them, powerless. He could see this coming from one hundred paces off, see how it would go down. Once again, it was the youngest, unexpected son, pitted against the one his mother said was a gift from God and an answer to prayer. Jake had spent his whole life working to earn just a tiny bit of the respect and regard Kit had been given without an ounce of effort.

And poor Quinn. Oh, God. Quinn.

Jake walked off, as Sam called out, "Jake..."

He couldn't deal with this right now. He couldn't deal with the look on her face. He did not need her pity or her false cheer. They needed to face facts.

You want to be something you gotta pay the cost

But in the long run I'll be a better man better off

I'm gonna learn from my mistakes once I'm past this heartache

I know when the hurtin' stops I'll be a better man better off

A better man better off a whole lot better off

Better Man, Better Off, Tracy Lawrence

Sam had tried to give Jake space. She knew he was dealing with a ton right now, but time to process was one thing. Five days of silence and growing tension was quite another. Kit wasn't in Del Rio. He wasn't in Sacramento, or Santa Rosa. He wasn't in New Jersey or New Mexico. He was firmly ensconced in the bedroom next to Jake's own, and Jake hadn't said a word about what they knew or what he thought.

Sam couldn't find a way to get Jake to open up. She knew the whole situation was going to go up in flames when Max brought up the trip again, "So, I assume you've postponed your meetings."

Sam startled, "No, we haven't, actually."

"Mom." Jake all but snarled from where he stood cleaning out his bag at the worktable in the kitchen, "Drop it. Just drop it."

Sam was shocked that something so important to them, something so vital to their future, could be so easily misunderstood as a trip to see Matrona and Aunt Sue. Just last week, Max had wanted to help her practice for her own interview on campus at Orange Grove. She'd spent a good amount of time practicing MMI skits with Jake.

Kit laughed, and stuck his fork in his food. "Running off to be a big shot doctor, are you?"

He bit into his pie as though dinner hadn't been mere hours ago, "Never thought you'd go against what everybody wanted for you."

"You'd know a lot about running off, then?" Sam gave voice to the taunt before she could stop it.

She regretted it, but not because Max looked at her with censure in her eyes.

Kit grinned, and it made Sam sick. "I see how it is. Don't ruffle your feathers, Sammy. I don't care if y'all are here or not. The road calls. No difference to me." He glanced at his mother, charming tone hiding the insults and the jibes, "We might even get more done. Dad was talking about going to that sale out in Nye County. Quinn and I will get on better without worrying after the young ones."

Quinn saw this exchange for what it was for his defense was an instant criticism of Kit's facts. "They're not so young, Kit. You've been gone so long, maybe you've forgotten." Sam felt vindicated in those words, "Dad would be lost without Jake's help. I like working with them."

"Quinn..." Jake put the cap back on his highlighter and put it in the correct pocket. "It's fine."

Sam knew it was not fine. It was not fine. Both Jake and Quinn wanted their mother to say something, but there she was, just looking at Kit like he had hung the moon and ordered the sun to rise.

Jake, in focusing on that, had missed Quinn's message. Quinn liked Jake, and though he loved Kit, he did not much like him. Jake was staring ahead, absorbing the insult like he hadn't heard it, like it was nothing new.

Sam bristled. They were not five and six-year old children being teased and tormented. This stopped now. "We do have lives, you know. Time passes. We grew up when you weren't around and found goals and principles."

Kit cut her off at the pass, "Still defending him, Sammy?"

The message was apparent. Maybe, Kit had implied, she hadn't grown up as much as it could be expected. She did not want to play into his hand.

Sam hesitated. Jake was a confident, self-aware, self-assuming, grown man. He did not need her impassioned defense, though it burned her lips as she hauled it back. Sam stuck her needle through the fabric of the sampler she was making for Asher's bedroom. She resisted the urge to touch Jake, to absorb his tensity and make their unity clear, especially to Jake, who looked so shut down that it hurt Sam to see it.

"Boys..." Max laughingly chided, like this wasn't serious, like one brother hadn't just cut another to the core. "You don't need to bicker about who gets to ride shotgun on the trip to the sale."

Sam was floored. She fought to keep her jaw from hitting the table. It was Max who could not see that they had grown up, and that all of them had grown apart.

They had been raised together, but they were not the same sort of people. They were family, and Sam would put her life on the line for Kit, but she did not think Max understood what was really going on here. It was Max who wanted to hide in the past, and pretend as though her family was once again whole, instead of fractured.

In that second, Sam knew the news of Kit's separation would not be coming from her lips. She would not shatter Max's joy. She knew that Max needed to see that her children were not kids anymore, and that they had lives bigger problems in life, bigger issues to handle, than who would be riding shotgun in the van or truck.

Such a silly thing hadn't mattered in more than a decade. Time had moved on. Kit was right though, just not in the way that he thought he might be. Some people never did change.

I lived in corpus with my brother

We were always on the run

We were bad for one another

But we were good at having fun

We got stoned along the seawall

We got drunk and rolled a car

We knew the girls at every dancehall

Had a tab at every bar

Corpus Christi Bay, REK

Having Kit in the house wasn't something he knew how to explain, other than in hateful words, even after almost a week. The air felt oppressive, like he was constantly being expected to have his people face on his face, and he could never relax. Combining hating his brother with his fears and his PTSD was no good for anything like quality of sleep.

Kit slept all day and was up all night. Jake was certain his was drunk all of the time, or chasing away sobriety. He'd found bottles scattered around, and had begun collecting the empties at a flip, so as to put them with the recycling there. He didn't want to enable Kit. He knew the thing to do would be to go to him, or their parents, but he was holding onto the ever-dwindling hope that this was some kind of 'my wife left me' binge. He prayed it would end, but there seemed to be no alteration of the schedule that had his mother tensely insisting it was jet lag, and his father on alert.

They weren't stupid people. Jake figured they knew what was going on here. He had not yet spoken to Quinn about it, because he and Sam had agreed not to tell him what they knew of Kit's circumstances. Despite what Sam said, Jake simply did not know where Quinn's loyalties were at the moment. He felt safer keeping his mouth shut, knowing that he wouldn't have to deal with the knowledge that his brother, his closest brother, had thrown him over for Kit.

Jake looked forward to bedtime, to escaping to River Bend when he could, for the simple fact that he could breathe, could relax. He wasn't going to the sale tomorrow. He wasn't going.

The soft lighting in the den illuminated his Progressive Rancher as he skimmed a few articles before turning in for the night. Sam was finishing up her evening's work. Jake was waiting to here her moving around to have a decent excuse to get up and leave the room.

His restless persual of the page kept his mind occupied, at least partially. Jake was glad for this moment of solitude, so lost and missing in the last week. Of course, given his luck, it couldn't last.

Kit strode into the room, flopped on the sofa, and turned on ESPN, jacking up the volume.

Jake tried to ignore SportsCenter and focus on grazing patterns, but even his loud, pointed, flicking of the page didn't have Kit turning down the damn TV. Jake huffed and flicked the page, fluffing out the crisp paper.

Kit paid him no mind as he watched the stats on the TV, his gross bare feet blocking Jake's vision of the doorway. So much for seeing Sam went she went by, making sure that she was alright after sitting in that chair for ages.

It was now a battle of wills. Jake wasn't going to give up, ceed his private, quiet time, in the evening, to this bullshit. Jake folded back the page and tried to read, all the while thinking about fratricide.

Jake put down the magazine, slapping it on top of a back issue of Bust. The wooden table next to the overstuffed chair held his mug, and all Jake had wanted was to sit, with his Progressive Rancher and his hot chocolate, and read, He wanted to read, pretend that outside of this room, that his brother hadn't sold him out for greener pastures and that Kit wasn't taking everything away. He just wanted five minutes where he didn't have to be nice.

Jake sipped his cocoa, letting the hot, thick, chocolate, temper his fury.

"Aw, hell." Kit sighed. Jake did not know why, and did not care to learn the reason. He took some joy in the fact that he was disappointed, though he wished he would focus on his actual issues rather than loafing around in track pants watching TV.

Jake picked up the magazine again, pointedly not engaging with Kit. If he wanted to talk to somebody, well, Quinn had made his willingness clear. They were buddies now, laughing and joking and pranking. There was still tension, sure, but Quinn had bought Kit's lies wholesale. He still hadn't mentioned the collapse of his marriage, nor that he had given up on his life and work in Hawaii and trotted to Three Ponies with no intention of leaving.

Over the blare of the TV, Jake heard, a muffled curse. He pushed to his feet, walked to the TV, and flipped off the TV.

Before Kit could open his trap, Jake called out, "Sam?"

He didn't want to head her way, not yet. It could just be that she had seen Kit in here sitting like a dragon guarding her Bust magazine.

Her voice was coming from upstairs. "I...I...need a towel, or something." Her voice took on a nervous edge as Jake headed towards the stairs. "I'm..."

Jake heard the thunk of bottles hitting a tile floor.

Fury built in Jake's veins as he moved towards the stairs, and took them three at a time. He knew that Kit had let water get all over the bathroom floor again. He was the only person around here who refused to follow the rules, the only person who would put others at risk out of laziness and selfishness.

Jake found Sam clinging to the vanity, trying to keep her feet under her, like a colt unsure of where to place his legs as she sought purchase on the wet floor in bare feet. Her urge to grip the strongest thing closest to the door, had caused her to knock bottles off of the tub, in a mad grab to reach a towel to step upon. "This is insane."

Jake pulled the towel that Kit had thrown over the shower rod down on the floor, pressed it

down over the puddles of water before Sam's feet. Sam stepped on it as her weight shifted towards him. "I know."

"I mean not being able to stand on tile with a bit of water on it." Sam shook her head, picking her way to the door, shuffling the towel under her feet towards the hallway. "I should have checked, but I really had to go."

"I don't want him here." Jake said, not liking the knowing look that came over Sam's face. She didn't know everything, didn't know what he was feeling, not with one glance.

Sam's palm was flat against his chest, smoothing down the cotton of his shirt, fingers pressing into the faded fabric that molded to the heat of his body. Jake felt his heartbeat kick up as a small smile ghosted across her face. "It's not so bad."

Jake didn't agree. On top of all of this other bullshit, he had to deal with feet coming up the stairs. Before Jake could say one word, Sam pushed off into her room, leaving him to face Kit and his arched eyebrow with a passive expression.

"You're going to get in trouble hanging out behind closed doors." Kit admonished, "You better watch out."

Jake shoved past him, followed Sam into her room, and very pointedly, shut the door.

Now she walks these hills, in a long black veil

She visits my grave, when the night winds wail

Nobody knows, nobody sees

Nobody knows, but me

Long Black Veil, Johnny Cash

Sam stared at the groceries she knew Kit had purchased when he'd run into Darton, not that he'd picked up anything other than his 'basics' for his own use. She'd just come in from River Bend, and opened the fridge to grab something to drink, in difference to the warm weather. She'd reached for flavored water, and had brushed her fingers along the side of a six-pack of beer.

Sam stared at the beverages for a long moment, shut the fridge, and looked again to make sure she was seeing them. She'd hallucinated before, but never about alcoholic beverages in a house that had a no drinks policy. In the first place, they were pretty firm in the methodistic roots of that conviction, and in the second, there was a strong genetic component towards alcoholism on Max's side of the family. Max had a strong sense of fear towards even the discussion of anything alcoholic, and she suspected that it was a topic she and Luke had agreed upon independently and together.

Sam took the beers out of the fridge and considered her options. She knew in an instant what she had to do. It took her a minute to figure out opening the bottles fluidly, but she did it. Staring at the caps on the counter, she knew what she had to do.

Sam made a decision. She knew she would be bringing ire on herself, but she didn't really care. She could not risk Max finding these bottles, not when she had already found a bunch of bottles in the upstairs garbage. She'd barely got those out of the house without anyone seeing them, and dropping them off for recycling with Jen's help had been the limit of what she was going to do to cover for Kit.

She was doing this to spare Max heartache. She began to pour the beer into the down the drain, knowing that the missing bottles from the packs would have to be Kit's own problem. Sam made quick work of pouring out the beers. She knew that every step she took meant she was closer still to being discovered, but she knew her course and would stay it.

Sam grabbed a box from the summer kitchen, and put all of the glass bottles into it. She stood them up like perverse milk bottles, and began to hide them in the back of the closet in the summer kitchen. However, just as her hand reached to shut the box in the dark behind the rag bags and detritus of life, Sam had a second thought.

Gamely, she went to the upstairs trash. As luck would have it, there were no beer bottles. Sam didn't stop to consider her relief. She reached to close the lid, and in doing so, shifted the paper on top of the can. Beneath it, rested several empty bottles of alcohol. As she headed downstairs, Sam considered the labels, and knew that no matter how she spun it, this was not a few beers with dinner.

Even so, if he wanted to drink, why not talk about it? Why not assert that he was an adult who might do as he pleased as a guest in his parent's home, and do so openly? It was the hiding that worried Sam, the hiding, and the things Jen had told her to look for when trying to figure this out. Sam knew she was going to have to confront Kit out of concern or tell Luke, but she hadn't yet figured out how.

Gal panted in the kitchen, and Sam promised her, "I'll talk to him tonight."

Sam went into the living room to grab her backpack, and saw an empty glass on the side table. She knew that Kit was out in the barn doing some useless menial tasks, because he hadn't been awake this morning to get started on the day. On the shelf beneath the table top, she found his latest beverage of choice.

Sam dumped that, too. Then, and then, she waited. She pulled out her schoolwork for the afternoon and set to writing, knowing that the time could be spent usefully, even if she was distracted. She didn't have to wait more than twenty minutes. She pretended to ignore Kit as he tramped into the kitchen. She saved the current draft of her paper, and looked over at Kit's back as he faced the fridge from where she sat at the opposite side of the kitchen table.

Sam stiffened, steeling her spine, when the fridge closed with a thunk. She did not look up, but instead kept her eyes on her work as her mind whirled. Right about now, Kit was seeing that the beer was gone, if the way he was pushing aside items were any indication. He paused, shut the door, and opened it again.

"Seen my beer?" He asked, gruffly turning around. Sam knew in an instant that he was more than half-drunk. She knew the signs as well as anyone who had significant exposure to not only the medical and psychological aspects of alcoholism and alcohol dependency, but also as someone who lived in rural America. More than half of her high school class drank to one degree or another, not to mention the rampant drug problems in Nevada and rural communities.

Sam admitted the truth, her gaze flitting over him lightly. "Yes."

Kit's face was inscrutable, though his eyes were pained and bloodshot. He went to the cupboard and reached down another glass. "Don't tell me you drank my beer."

"No." Sam shut the lid of her laptop, because she wanted to see his face when she told him the truth. "I poured it out. And the whiskey, too."

He glared, and shoved a hand through his shaggy haircut, "Why would you go and do a fool thing like that?"

"You know the rules about liquor in the house." Sam did not tell him that she was trying in vain to cover for him. There were only so many times she could imagine that he could avoid the gaze of his parents. He was crying out for help, and she was trying to provide it without causing more pain between everyone in the process, "Given the family history of…"

"Sam! Jesus Christ!" Kit exploded, very obviously triggered by what she had not yet been allowed to say, "A few beers does not make me some kind of drinker."

"No," Sam agreed, knowing that he had gone so far beyond a few beers since breakfast that it didn't bear consideration, "but your circumstances are stressful. I just don't want to see it become a coping mechanism." Sam came to her point, knowing that there would be no real conversation between them. "When I had my accident, I was going through a lot, and I really benefitted from talking to a professional. There's somebody good about an hour from here. You know, I just wanted you know that I know what it feels like—"

Once again, Kit wouldn't let her speak. "Oh, so Debbie Do-Gooder rears her frizzy head."

"Excuse me?" Sam did not take his words to heart. He was in pain, and he wanted to cause pain. He was deflecting, because although she had not told him she knew of the troubles he was experiencing, she had alluded to it. She had been trying to build some trust and empathy.

She knew what it felt like to stare at a bottle of pain pills and want to swallow the whole of it, just to stop feeling. She would have, once upon a time, done anything to stop feeling the weight of the universe upon her shoulders. Irrespective of her past suicidal ideations, she had been in the same boat he was sitting in right now.

"At least admit why you did it." Kit spat through clenched teeth, "To force some kind of family meeting, some sort of discussion."

She'd actually done it to give him the space to have that conversation without her meddling further. Clearly, he didn't see it that way. He wanted facts, so she would give him facts. "I couldn't stand you disrespecting your parents in their own living room! There are rules in life, Kit, for a reason, and you don't get to break them." She knew. She had stood on the very precipice of utter destruction. The main rule of life was that it had to be lived. There was no escape, no time out. "Nobody does."

"You know what I'd like?" Kit asked, his tone dropping into something sing-song and chilling. He continued without waiting for her encouragement, "I'd like you to be the grown up you say you are and stop pretending my family, my parents, have anything to do with you. I'd like you to remember that at the end of the day, Sam, that there's no question of who belongs here, who at the end the of the day will be left standing if you want to play this game."

Those words played on her deepest fears and he knew it. Still, Sam didn't so much as flinch. She didn't so much as blink. "We don't always get what we want, do we?" Sam returned, "I'm not going to enable you. I'm not going to leave, either." Sam continued calmly, "You see, I see you. I see you, Kit. And right now, from where I'm sitting, you don't look so functional, not when you're spending 90% of your days here watching ESPN to avoid explaining why your eyes are bloodshot, you shake, and you sleep all day."

"You're not my sister." Kit replied, "You're nothing but an insecure child who has so many problems at home she sticks her nose into other people's homes."

Sam grinned, "Welcome to the club, Christopher." While Sam had his attention, aghast at the use of his full name, "Touch my cough meds again and I'll call the cops so fast your drunk head will spin to the point that it'll sober you up."

Kit swallowed, "That's a pretty big accusation."

Sam nodded, and opened her computer with a tap of the trackpad and the swift tap of her password. This conversation was over. She'd offered support. As was his right, he'd declined it. In doing so, Sam had reframed the dynamics of their interactions. She was nobody's enabler and dealer, nor was she anyone's fool. "You don't need to waste your breath denying it. I've got pictures. For your information, you'd need a vat of it to do you any good."

With that, Sam spun her computer around to show him the snapshots the hidden camera had taken. She knew it had been a little wild to actually use that spy camera Adam had gifted her one year at Christmas. However, she simply hadn't been able to shake the hunch that her missing cough syrup was connected to Kit, though she wasn't about to make accusations without proof.

Sam left the pictures blown up on her screen, and stood up. "Get help, Kit. You need it."

With that, she opened the kitchen and walked outside after Singer, whose happy yips and yaps called her into the spring afternoon. They were leaving for San Fransisco in the morning, and she was determined to enjoy her day.

People sayin' that I've hit rock bottom

Just 'cause I'm living on the rocks

It's a broken hearted thinkin' problem

So pull that bottle off the wall

People say I got a drinkin' problem

But I got no problem drinkin' at all

They keep on talkin'

Drawing conclusions

They call it a problem, I call it a solution…

Drinkin' Problem, Midland

Feedback cherished. This is incredibly AU, and speaks to a perspective that is not meant to demonize people who are ill, only show that it is, in fact, a family illness. Kit won't be the focus of the this narrative, but his own growth does play a part. I will be going over my other WIPs in time and updating them in tandem with this work.